


Haunting

by mneiai



Category: World of Warcraft
Genre: Forsaken being Forsaken, Gen, Warchief Sylvanas era
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-09
Updated: 2018-04-09
Packaged: 2019-04-20 21:19:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,670
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14269743
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mneiai/pseuds/mneiai
Summary: Sometimes it would be better if old friends stayed gone.





	Haunting

**Author's Note:**

> So when working out my timeline for Tyrathan's life I hit upon certain interactions that would have been possible given his potential age and experiences. 
> 
> Anyway, this is just typical self-indulgent bullshit. Unbeta'd per normal.

“You look like shit.”

Tyrathan’s head jerked up as the log he was lying against shifted from someone sitting down on it. He'd heard something approaching, but figured it would pass him by, and he wasn't expecting a person wanting to interact.

Looking over at them, he froze.

“...I must, if someone like you is noticing.”

Nathanos snorted. “The undead?”

“No, you, personally,” Tyrathan muttered. “You were horrible at taking care of yourself.”

Nathanos shrugged and Tyrathan started relaxing, though not letting down his guard again. “My Lady has taken to reminding me of that.”

“Right. Well, what are you doing here?”

Here was only a few miles from Trueshot Lodge, where Tyrathan had taken to spending most of his time while not on hunts. It wasn't impossible to think Nathanos would visit, he was still a hunter despite everything, but Tyrathan had never run into him before.

“I heard of a hunter who’s the best shot most people around here have ever seen and who's also running himself ragged on some vague revenge quest, it sounded like it could be entertaining to watch. Didn't realize it was you until I got here. What are you doing, Khort?”

Nathanos loomed over him and Tyrathan pushed back old memories from when they'd both been much younger men and on the same side of a war.

“What I need to do.”

“I heard you'd settled down, had a family. What about them?”

That Nathanos had kept track of him shouldn't have surprised Tyrathan, he'd had an amazing memory when they'd known each other and it probably hadn't diminished much given his rank among his people. “I'm divorced.”

Nathanos let out a huff. “Of course you are. Got bored?”

“She did,” he immediately corrected, narrowing his eyes. “I was a bad husband.”

Holding up his hands in a sign that he didn't want to get into a fight over that, Nathanos let the subject drop. “And what's this quest of yours, then?”

“...I promised a friend I'd avenge his death. That I'd kill the one that killed him. But that's impossible, so… I'm just trying to kill as many like that one as possible.” And dedicating the kills to Vol'jin, unsure if that would mean anything, but remembering enough about Vol'jin's religion to hope it helped him in the afterlife. Tyrathan felt helpless to do much else for Vol’jin, now.

Nathanos watched him. “If they were that good of a friend,” he sounded skeptical, as if he couldn't imagine him having a friend like that, “then surely they don't expect you to do that.”

Tyrathan scowled, turning his attention to the log under him, digging his nails into the bark. “I don't know what they would have wanted, I don't think either of us imagined I'd be the one to survive longer.”

“Ah, so you are doing this because you don't know what to do. I think, if anything, that should tell you it's time to stop.”

“And do what, instead?”

There was finally some hesitation in Nathanos’ body language, familiar to Tyrathan despite the odd quirks of the undead that shown through. “You could come with me. It has been some time since we saw each other, we have catching up to do.”

Tyrathan sighed. He wondered how much of this was truly Nathanos and how much was a facade. Or if that even mattered, because he was sure in Nathanos’ mind this ended with Tyrathan allowing himself to be killed and raised.

“And what would that entail?”

“We could go to Undercity, no one would dare bother you there. We could reconnect.”

Reaching out slowly, Nathanos ruffled Tyrathan's hair, a sad attempt at a gesture that used to be common between them. His hand was noticeably cold and the flesh didn't feel quite right against Tyrathan's scalp. He shivered, though he batted the hand away as he used to, continuing the nostalgic charade.

“I'm not sure if Undercity is the best place for the living.”

“...I wouldn't know. But you wouldn't have to worry about that.”

Tyrathan’s jaw tensed at the implication. “Remember how everyone used to joke? That you and the ranger-general were like my parents?”

Nathanos was quiet for a moment, then made a sound of acknowledgement.

Tyrathan opened his eyes again, sitting up. “Good parents don't kill their children.”

He rolled away, hands grabbing his weapon as he did, and already had an arrow out and bow drawn, pointed at Nathanos, when he came up. But Nathanos had moved, too, standing on the other side of the log, face twisted in anger.

His weapon wasn't drawn, but Tyrathan could sense the stillness of the woods, could make out the shifting of leaves. Companions. Multiple. Nathanos always was an overachiever.

Instinct told Tyrathan to run, but experience kept him still even as the Blighthounds came out of the trees around them. 

“If they get any closer, I shoot. And I make sure I take enough of you out that you won't be of any use to the Banshee Queen.” This wasn’t Nathanos, he told himself, keeping his doubts off his face.

The hounds stopped their approach. “I didn't come here for a fight, Tyrathan.”

“But you had to know one would happen. I'm not becoming undead, not for you, not for her.”

He'd known even as a child that Nathanos and Sylvanas were sometimes too attached. Like now, there were plenty of times back then when Nathanos seemed incapable of understanding how others wouldn't do whatever Sylvanas wanted of them. 

“You loved us once. You followed me around, soaking up any knowledge I would give you, doing any task I handed you.”

“You never gave me a task I couldn't handle.”

“You were a boy at war, now you're a man.”

“You were my mentor, now you're just a monster,” Tyrathan replied evenly, knowing if he could distract Nathanos enough he might be able to escape.

If anyone had told his younger self someday they'd be enemies, he would have laughed in their faces. Nathanos was the only person to acknowledge how too-young Tyrathan had been to be enlisted, but had never made an attempt to remove him from service, instead taking the boy under his wing even after the war had ended. He had been one of the few reasons Tyrathan had hesitated when the way was clear to return to his ancestral home in Elwynn Forest, but he'd thought he would see Nathanos again. No one had counted on the Scourge, of course, of most of the Northerners being taken by it.

“I've been called worse.” Nathanos shrugged off the insult, but Tyrathan could see small signs it had landed true. “And the Dark Lady would not be pleased if I didn't bring you into her service. She was always fond of you.”

He thought of the treats she'd bring for him, the advice she'd offer. They'd bonded over a shared love of archery and their regard for Nathanos and while Tyrathan had seen much less of her (she was far too busy, after all, to spend much time with some low ranking human boy) he'd cared for her, too. When he'd found out what had happened to her, when he'd heard of the things she'd done after, he'd ached for her.

“If enough of you remains to feel some connection to me, how can you justify killing me?”

“To bring you back! To have you with us, where you should have been! If the Scourge hadn’t attacked, if we hadn’t fallen, would you have really stayed away so long?”

No, Tyrathan admits to himself, he wouldn’t have. Especially not after hearing about Nathanos’ promotion, knowing that if he did well more humans would slowly be accepted into the Farstriders. Tyrathan’s family had served the Vanysts for a long time, but with a lord like he had it would have been easy to find a reason to leave that behind.

“I know you, Tyrathan, I know the truth.”

“But that didn’t come to be. The Scourge DID attack, you and Sylvanas DID die. And now you’re part of the Horde, you’re slaughtering living humans to gorge your numbers.”

Nathanos gave him a pointed look. “I’ve followed your career, Tyrathan, do you honestly think I would believe you care about who, or what, you kill?”

“I kill for reasons, not just to kill. Not just to create bodies and drag people away from their afterlives.” It occurred to Tyrathan that he’d never see Vol’jin again, if the Scourge took him. There’d be no chance of their souls passing and meeting, if Tyrathan was trapped on this plain. 

“And we’ll give you reasons, but even more than that--you’ll be among friends, true friends again. People who will appreciate you for who you are, not relegate you to random, meaningless assignments.”

“How much of this is real passion and how much is a show you’re putting on to draw me in? Does Sylvanas just want to collect a few more talented slaves? How much can you really feel anymore, Nathanos?”

Nathanos seemed to instinctively take a step closer, eyes narrowing as Tyrathan's shoulders tensed, preparing for a shot. “We cared for you in life, how is it so hard to believe we could in undeath?”

For a second, Tyrathan wavered. He'd lost so much of who he was and how he defined himself, maybe his oldest relationships made sense to go back to.

The few seconds of hesitation were all Nathanos needed--a blighthound took a running jump, catching Tyrathan's bow in its teeth. As he released it and went for his knife, Nathanos was there, grunting as he let the blade sink into his arm so he could get the leverage he needed to throw it away and hold Tyrathan against the ground.

“Stop this! Stop fighting me!”

Tyrathan bucked and twisted, managing to break free, and took off towards the lodge. He didn't think he could outrun the hounds, he had to hope that he ran into some other hunter on the way who would help.

A rustle to his left and he ducked, a blighthound just missing him as it tried to jump on his back. Another noise and he skidded, swerved around a tree, hearing the whine as the hound behind him slammed into it. He knew they were trying to herd him away from the lodge, he'd used such techniques himself in the past, but no matter what he tried they managed to cut him off. There were too many and without a long range weapon Tyrathan was at too much of a disadvantage.

“Things don't have to be this way,” Nathanos called through the trees, Tyrathan catching a glimpse of his dark cloak and shining eyes. “We felt like a family before, Tyrathan, we just want that back.”

“Is that what this is? You can feel just enough to think if you drag me down with you, you can reclaim some piece of yourself you lost?” Tyrathan shouted back, voice thready from the strain of staying ahead of his pursuers. “Or are you hoping SHE’LL feel something? That you can make her remember she's more than just some fucked up creature that--”

A blighthound slammed into him and Tyrathan dropped with a cry. He had known intellectually they had been trying not to hurt him before, but didn't really fully realize it until they stopped. He groaned, body aching from the impact.

The hound pushed its muzzle against his throat when he tried to move, growling, as its packmates circled. Nathanos crouched down near Tyrathan's head, grabbing his hair and using the grip to force him to look into his face.

“You know nothing of the Dark Lady, not now. But I promise soon you'll know, you'll understand. You'll be thankful I've brought you back to us.”

He took something, a potion, out of a pouch on his belt and though Tyrathan tried to resist, it didn't take more than a few whiffs to make him pass out.

***

He didn't remember dying, however Nathanos had done it must have been quick enough that it didn't wake him up. Tyrathan floated in the ether, feeling peace for the first time in years.

“Tyrathan?” A familiar voice echoed through the shadows and Tyrathan looked towards it, for as much as he could look or that there were directions in this realm.

“Vol'jin?”

The troll in question appeared before him. He looked different, dressed up in ceremonial garb, radiating power in the small-feeling space.

“I not be expecting ya so soon. Bwonsamdi’s away, but it be easy for me to guide you--and I be thinking ya be remembering enough of him.”

Tyrathan tried to answer, but the world shook around him aas he felt a firm tug on himself, on his soul.

Vol'jin's eyes widened as he realized what was happening and he reached for him as the distance between them seemed to grow. “No! No, she can't be having you!”

***

Tyrathan came back to the physical realm and immediately it felt wrong. Hands held him down as he struggled, voices he vaguely recognized saying things he couldn't quite understand.

He didn't know how long it took before he could register his senses, whole and completely. He was in a dank, dimly lit room. Nathanos and Sylvanas both were holding onto his limbs, staring down at him. A somehow frail looking Vry’kul was slumped against the nearest wall. And...and he was undead.

Tyrathan stared at his hands in horror, the color completely gone, his skin had now taken on a bluish tinge. “No,” he whispered, hearing his own voice causing more shudders to wrack his body.

“Shh, don't fret, Tyrathan, we have you.” Sylvanas, she was here, overseeing this process personally. He looked up at her, at the malicious red eyes, the cold expression, and he barely recognized her.

Nathanos squeezed his arm, drawing Tyrathan's attention to him. “See? That wasn't so bad, was it?”

He said it like he was talking to a child about a basic injury and Tyrathan felt sick. They were treating him like he was 14 again, alone and scared but determined to get some misplaced vengeance against the Horde.

“Get off of me,” he rasped, fighting against their touches.

Nathanos did, but Sylvanas didn't. She forced him to sit, holding him as a dizzy spell passed over him. 

“I'll let you have some leeway, you're so new, and Nathanos did not prepare you as he should have,” she glared over his shoulder and Tyrathan could almost feel how Nathanos must wilt at that. “But I am your superior, Tyrathan, your leader, and I will not accept such blatant insubordination for long.”

Tyrathan glared. Or tried to, he wasn't sure what his face was doing. “I thought that would be it. Another slave for your army, Sylvanas? To be discarded when I act up too much?”

She slapped him, hard, and he reeled back, head landing on Nathanos. “You are mine, Tyrathan, because you are Nathanos’. You have been ours for longer than you've belonged to anyone else. Don't forget that--this is where you were meant to be. Everything in the last few years has just been fate stalling us.”

Her face softened and she reached out, cupping the cheek she’d hit. “You’ll adjust, you were always so good at that. Then you’ll realize how much better things are here, with us. Don’t worry.”

She left them, then, Nathanos eventually helping Tyrathan up and all but dragging him from the room. He was outraged, yes, but the longer he was back in his body, the less he could process that. It was almost like he could watch his feelings grow duller as he walked.

“Don’t worry,” Nathanos repeated Sylvanas’ words to him as they made their way through Undercity, Tyrathan attempting to memorize the course even though he was sure he wouldn’t be given a chance to escape.

He wondered if it was a direction or a promise.


End file.
